


The Interrupted Wedding

by naturegirlrocks



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bondlock, F/M, Gen, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Post Reichenbach, Pre-Slash, Q is a Holmes, Why does these things keep happening to James?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 17:18:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naturegirlrocks/pseuds/naturegirlrocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond watches M's funeral from a far, little does he know he is about to enter an adventure not unlike the adventures that he usually enters, but this time there are three Holmes-brothers to deal with as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Interrupted Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> This little thing has been running around in my head for a few months now, here it is in all it's glory. Enjoy!
> 
> (All mistakes are mine)

James Bond was not a snoop. No, really he wasn't. A snoop was a dog on a scent, James was a cat that had been killed by curiosity so many times that he had lost count. So when James heard that there was going to be a private funeral service only for M's family and her closest, civilian, friends, he was not bias to crash the party. 

It was a small country graveyard in the northwest of Surrey. James stayed by the back gates, watching the hearse arriving, and four men in black suits carry the casket inside the chapel. 

James had no plan to interfere with the service, just to look. In spite of what employes of MI6 might think, he was not _entirely_ without tact. He had also had tremendous respect for M, and wouldn't want to disturb her mourning family. He was simply there because he was curious, and because he wanted to pay his last respect to one of the very few women that had gotten the better of him.

He stood back in the shadow of some trees when he saw the first cars with guests arrive to the parking lot. James recognised M's late husband's brother, the teenage girl holding his hand was probably a grandchild. 

A tall man with slightly thinning ginger hair, wearing a black tree piece suit, emerged from the backseat of another black car. He had a very pretty woman on his arm, though she seemed more like a personal assistant than wife or girlfriend. 

James pulled up a packet of cigarettes out from his jacket pocket. 

"Do you have one to spare?" 

James twitched, his hand halfway to his gun, at the sound of the voice. Not many people had ever been able to sneak up on him. He looked the man over, feeling a hint if recognition, but unable to place it.

"I'm trying to quit," said the tall dark stranger. 

"Only more reason to have one," said James offering the package.

"Spanish brand," observed the man, leaning in to let James light the cigarette with an old Q-branch lighter. "Been traveling?"

"A little," James lit his own cigarette. 

The stood silent for a moment, watching more mourners arrive. You could smell posh-ness on single on of them. James glanced as his company, noting he was of the same stock. 

"Are you here for the service?" the stranger asked casually. 

"Are you?"

The man gave him a little crooked smile that was so damn familiar that James immediately went through his memory over terrorists from his latest briefings. 

James was about to move to some more thorough questions when he got distracted by a new arrival. A very familiar young man exited from a black car, wearing a very unfamiliar black suit jacket.

"Q?" he frowned. 

"Friend of yours?" asked the man, sucking on a breath of smoke. 

"Is he one of yours?"

"Do you always turn the question around without answering?"

"Double-oh seven?!" 

James turned around, seeing a distressed Q hurrying up to him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" 

"I..." James looked around for the other man, but he was gone. "Where did he go?"

"Who?" Q frowned, he was clearly angry. "Don't change the subject Bond. Why are you here?"

"M was more than my boss," James took a defiant step forward. "She was my friend."

"Sorry..." The young man rubbed his eyes under his glasses. "It's just..." 

"What?" James put a comforting hand on the quartermaster's shoulder. 

"She was my aunt, my father's older sister."

"Oh."

James remembered seeing a little more than work relation between the two, but had written it down to Q's youth and M's maternal feelings. James gave Q a sad smile, and the quartermaster actually blushed a little, looking over to his family.

"Well," Q sighed. "Since you are here... You can come with me."

James held back his immediate, and not so witty, response of 'are you offering?' by the solemness of the occasion. He followed Q towards the chapel. There was still no sight of the strange man from earlier. 

After the service, during which he most of the time had stared at Q and the suit the young man was wearing, the tall ginger man James had seen before came up to him. His beautiful assistant was in his wake.

"Hello," the man said politely, shaking James hand. "I'm Mycroft Holmes. I'm your quartermaster's brother."

James blinked, not used to being surprised twice in one day. He recognised the name immediately of course. The unofficial head of MI5, the top British CIA liaison, and the rumoured shadow behind the last five elected governments. He hadn't counted on the man being in his own age though, which was twelve years older than Q.

"Brother?" James turned to Q, who was standing next to him. "You are brothers?"

"Catches on quick doesn't he?" Holmes smirked, sounding in the exact same way as the stranger from before had done. "Though rest assured, Mr. Bond, that Felix gained his position within the MI6 without any of my interference."

"I never doubted that," said James in a even voice, looking admirably on Q. 

He could almost feel the waves of relief coming of Q. It was clear that many others often had made the wrong assumption of the brothers. 

"I actually have a job for you," said Holmes slowly. "But now is not the time... Anthea, dear?" 

"Sir?" his assistant is already holding a calculator-like smartphone in her hand, more than likely one of Q's clever inventions. 

"Clear Mr. Bond's present schedule," Holmes smiled that irritating smile again. "And set him up for a meeting with me tomorrow morning. He is switching to our department for the time being." 

Before James has time to protest, or react, Holmes was already walking away towards the parking lot. The pretty woman placed a blank white business card with a penciled time and place in James's hand.

"Yeah," smirked Q, looking after his brother. "He's always like that."

James blinked in surprise as he finally placed the smile on the stranger's face. Who ever the mystery man was, he was in close relation to the two brothers.

"Where are you staying?" Q asked. 

"I'm going directly back to London," James was thoughtfully looking back at the trees. "I still haven't had time to find new place so I'm staying at the Hilton."

"Here," Q hands him a set of keys. "I'm staying with my parents tonight. You can use my place, I'm sure you already know where it is. It's cheaper, and closer to Mycroft's office."

"Thanks," James gave Q's arm a light squeeze as they parted.

////

James drove directly to London. He returned the borrowed car to HQ, and picked up his luggage. He had a nice supper at a good restaurant. It included three strong vodka drinks and some flirting with the waitress, before taking a cab to Q's flat. 

The first thing he noticed when entering was that the alarm was turned off. Q would never forget such a thing so there must already be someone there. Frowning, he hung up his jacket and entered the dimly lit living room. 

He smiled as he saw the dark curls of Q's sleeping head on the sofa. The thought of the younger man falling asleep while staying up to wait for him was heartwarming. 

James felt brave by drink. He slowly snuck up to the sofa and keeled by it's side. Carefully he leaned in and kissed the back of Q's neck. 

"Mmm... John..." hummed the man under his lips.

"John?" 

James sat back for the third surprise of the day. Sure, he hadn't known for certain if Q was free to welcome his advances, but he defiantly knew that there was no 'John'.

"What the...?" 

He pulled Q around to face him, but it wasn't Q. It was the familiar stranger from the graveyard before. 

"Excuse me," said the man, clearly irritated. "I was actually sleeping here."

"Who the hell are you?" James was on his feet and pointing his personalised Walter at the man's face in a second.

"Sherlock Holmes," the man glared at the gun as if it had personally offended him. "Now, I need my four hours."

Without a further word he turned away, face back into the sofa. James lowered the gun.

"Are you a relative of k- I mean Felix?"

"I'm his brother," said Sherlock with a sigh. "Please, don't tell anyone I'm here. I just need to sleep."

James stood still for a moment, looking down at the man, and scratching the back of his head with the gun. Sherlock was taller than Q, he could see that now. And skinnier, now that was a feat. Maybe he was about five years older.

"Fine," James shook his head and headed for the bathroom to brush his teeth "Fine."

He had half a mind to text Q and ask what the fuck was going on, but his spy-senses told him to wait. He and Q were MI6, Mycroft Holmes were MI5, it was more than likely this Sherlock-character was also some kind of intelligence, and didn't need his whereabouts being leaked. 

James sighed. He didn't know if he was to be happy or sad that his attempts of drunken seduction had been aimed at the wrong man. But as the back of necks went, Sherlock's was not a bad one to kiss. 

James went to bed, with his gun under his pillow, and hoped that things would be cleared out in the morning. 

/////

He was woken by a scream, and not just any scream, Q's scream. James was in the kitchen two seconds later, gun in hand. His sleep meddled and adrenalin pumped brain, as well as the quick movement, was making him slightly dizzy.

He blinked at the two brothers before him. Q was leaning against the counter, looking very pale. Sherlock was sitting by the table, looking slightly amused. 

There were four glasses of milk on the table, one of which was looking as if it was quickly moulding, and another one was blue. There were also other things on the table, baking soda, cleaning detergent, soap, windex and lemons.

"I can see why you keep him around," said Sherlock, poignantly eyeing James's crotch. "But you really should teach him to put his pants on before greeting guests in the morning."

James was naked, yeah, that was the way he liked to sleep when he was on leave. Strangely enough, and slightly hurting, Q didn't seem to notice this state of undress. 

"You are supposed to be dead!" Q shouted in a panicked voice at his brother.

"I got better," said Sherlock taking a plastic drink-stirrer, stirring one of the milk glasses. And hummed as the liquid turned from white to brown. "Hmm."

"You are dead!" repeated Q, near hysterics. "You have been dead for over a year!"

"Your boyfriend is naked," said Sherlock raising the brown milk to the light. "And he tried to ravish me."

"He is not my... He what?!" Q turned to James, looking insulted beyond belief. "You tried to ravish my dead brother?"

"I thought he was you!" James gestured the gun towards Sherlock. "And he is clearly alive!"

"Not if you keep swinging that thing around," said Sherlock with a cheeky smirk. "That goes for the gun as well."

"Double-oh-seven, get dressed," Q was massaging his temples. "You are meeting with Mycroft in an hour." 

James hesitated for a moment, but then nodded, and returned to the bedroom. He kept the door open though, so he could hear everything that was going on.

"I used up all your milk," said Sherlock's voice.

"I can see that," said Q.

There was a scraping of a chair as Q sat down. 

"So how did you survive the fall?"

"Simple physics, no need to get into that now."

"Have you told John?"

James halted with his shirt unbuttoned. That was the name Sherlock had moaned when James had kissed him. Clearly a lover then.

"No, and let's keep it that way."

"But..."

"He's getting married in two days, Felix!" Sherlock's voice was angry, and yet so endlessly sad. "Forget him, he has forgotten me."

"Sherlock..."

"Forget it!"

There was a loud sound of crashing glass and splashing liquids. James hurried back to the kitchen to see all four glasses of milk on the floor. 

"You ruined your nice experiment," said Q in a kind voice. 

"Screw it," pouted Sherlock, crossing his arms like a toddler. 

James avoided the glass carefully as he moved towards the electric tea kettle and filled it with water. If he knew Q correctly, then tea would soothe Sherlock as well.

"Does Mycroft know you are alive?" asked Q. 

"I don't know," frowned Sherlock, seemingly very irritated over this as well. "He's showing positive signs of both. Either he knows and wants to drive me insane, or he doesn't know and forgets himself."

"James is meeting him today," Q leaned closer. "Do you know what that is about?"

"For the same reason I revealed myself to you," Sherlock stood up. "There has been a confirmed sighting of Sebastian Moran, Moriarty's second in command. He's a very dangerous man. And if your boyfriend's rumour serves him right, Moran is just the type of person that he deals with on daily basis." 

"We are not together," frowned Q. "Inter-office romance isn't..."

" _Romance_ is it?" smirked Sherlock. "I see, you are still dancing around each other, nobody wanting to make the first move... I know the feeling." 

James really wanted to go down that road of thought with Q, but he wanted to do it without witnesses. He decided to change back the subject.

"I know those names you mentioned," said James putting down three cups of tea on the table. "Moriarty was a high priority on our lists before he shot himself. And Moran, I have heard he has been used for several assassinations worldwide. We have probably crossed paths a couple of times without knowing." 

"Mycroft is going to ask you to take him down," said Sherlock. "I have been on his trail for months, and done away with several of his underlings in the process, but Moran still eludes me."

"You can't come back to life until he is gone," said Q as-a-matter-factly. 

"There are tabs on my landlady, my police contacts, and on John. If anyone knows I'm alive they are all dead."

"Are we the only ones who know?" nodded James. "And perhaps Mycroft?"

"You, Molly Hooper -my ever friendly mortician- and a few very trusted people in my homeless network."

Q had drunken half his cup of tea and was now picking up shards of glass from the floor. Sherlock watched his brother while humming distantly in his cup. 

"Aren't you going to help him?" asked James.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He got up with a sigh, took the paper roll from the kitchen desk top, and handed it to Q in a nonchalant way. 

"It really is you," smiled Q taking the roll. 

"Of course it is, you idiot," huffed Sherlock and left the room. "I'm taking a shower."

"He's a bit of a dick, isn't he?" said James, carefully hunching down to help pick up the glass.

"He is a genius," said Q with a long suffering shrug. 

"You're a genius," James leaned forward to catch Q's eye. 

"Not compared to him," Q dabbed the paper over the foul smelling liquid on the floor. "You have to have both me and Mycroft working together to beat him, and sometimes he still outsmarts us."

"You actually really mean that."

James had never known Q to be modest about his genius, ever. To confess his intellectual capacity inferior to Sherlock's must take a rough beating to his pride. It must also be the truth. James wondered what kind of man currently was using the shower. 

"Of course I do," Q sighed, then he looked at James thoughtfully. "Did you really think he was me when you tried to ravish him?"

"It was just a kiss on the back of the neck!" protested James. "But... Yes, I thought he was you.

Q smiled. James blushed. Q moved forward and kissed James gently on the mouth. 

"Now get to your meeting," he said, turning away to the broomcloset to get the hoover. "And don't tell Mycroft Sherlock's alive, even if you think he knows."

/////

He arrived to Mycroft's office on the dot. He liked the decorating, it reminded him of museums, and of documentaries about the Second World War, if you ignored all the computers and TV-screens of course. 

"Mr. Bond," said Mycroft, holding out his hand. "Welcome."

"Thank you," James shook the hand and sat down in an assigned chair.

"Let's get down to business."

Mycroft moved to the other side of the desk to seat himself. He looked straight to James, suddenly displaying more authority than any of the M's James had ever worked for. 

"What are your intentions with my brother?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"I thought this was about a mission."

"It is," Myctoft nodded. "I just want to get to know you first. And I want to take care of my brother. He is quite precious to me, you know."

James decided to go on a limb to throw the test back at the man. 

"Q told me about Sherlock," he said.

Mycroft looked away for a fraction of a moment, but then came back to James.

"Then you know the length a Holmes can go for love," Mycroft's voice was hard. "Sherlock was mostly insufferable. He was a borderline idiot savant, a great child prodigy, a self-proclaimed sociopath, and a psychological mess, all boiled in to one. He still took his own life to save those he loved."

James thought back on Sherlock mentioning John. The man's upcoming marriage must be breaking his heart. Then he blinked as a thought brought his kind back to the present.

"You are scared that Q would do the same for me, if we ever would get involved."

"You live a very dangerous life, Mr. Bond."

"Q knows the risks," James fixed Mycroft's stare right back. "I would do the same for him."

"Brave words." 

"It's a habit," James shrugged. "Now, are we going to talk about the mission or not?"

Mycroft looked him over for two expressionless seconds, before pushing a folder over the desk towards him. James leaned forward and took it. 

Inside was several reports and photographs. First was a black and white photograph from a CCTV-camera. It depicted a man, early forties, blond, muscular, military stance. 

"Moran," said said James.

"You know him?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"I like to keep an eye on the competition," said James. "We have never crossed paths though."

"Well, consider them crossed, Mr. Bond. He's is in London. You are taking him down, preferably alive, but accidents do happen. Everything you need to know is in that file, and if you run into trouble I'm sure my brother can help you."

"Very well," said James.

Rising to his feet he noticed a opened white and silver envelope on top of a letter pile. 

"You have a wedding invitation."

"A friend of my late brother's," Mycroft lips thinned when he looked at the invitation. "It would have broken his heart, if he was alive..."

//////

James retuned to Q's flat. Q was out, probably at work, but Sherlock was on the couch casually reading a HTML-code book that looked like a giant brick. 

"Doing some light reading?" James asked placing the folder on the table, and loosening his tie. 

"It was either this or one of those horribly inaccurate Science Fiction novels he is so disgustingly fond of," sighed Sherlock and turned a page. 

James thought of defending Q, but he wasn't fond of Science Fiction either. Whenever he had time to read for pleasure he preferred funny, simple and slighlty romantic books, to help him take a break from his own harsh reality. 

Sherlock dropped the brick-book on the floor with a thud and grabbed for the folder. James sat down next to him and together they went through contents in only ten minutes. 

James was amazed how Sherlock took in and processed the information, breaking it down, analysing details, and then making almost ludicrous assumptions that seemed so ridiculously simple when he explained them.

"Impressive," said James.

He was awarded with a small smile that made his heart twitch. It must be the obvious similarity to Q, he thought. Their eyes were lingering too long. He remembered how Sherlock's neck had felt under his mouth. Shit. But then again, he had thought the man was Q!

"So," James cleared his throat and looked back down to the papers on the table. "He's planning an assassination. Now we must find out who, where, when, how, and why."

"Those questions are quite simple, Mr. Bond," said Sherlock staring at the picture of Moran. "I'm surprised that you haven't already figured it out."

"Sorry," James leaned back into the couch. "I'm just the gun and muscle here. You are the super genius."

Sherlock sighed and got to his feet. He started counting out the answers on his fingers. 

"Why?" he pointed to his thumb. "Because in the last year the former Moriarty-network has suffered severe damage. Several are dead, even more are in jail. Those who are free are either whistleblowers, lucky, or on Interpol's most wanted list."

As Sherlock pointed to his forefinger, James knew where this was going, but he kept on listening. 

"How? Moran's prefers long-range rifles. When? Tomorrow, noon. Where? The St. Mary Estate in Cornwall. Who? Doctor John Hamish Watson, and probably some of his guests."

Sherlock held on to his pinky for a few seconds before sitting down again. 

"He knows you're alive."

"He guesses I'm alive."

"Still same result."

"Yeah."

At that moment the front door opened and Q stepped inside. He was carrying two large pizza boxes, and a white plastic bag with salad and sodas. James got up to help him. He could smell his favourite toppings from the pizzas.

"How did the meeting go?" Q asked as he moved to the kitchen to get some plates. 

James and Sherlock filled Q in on the details as they ate. Q didn't eat the crust, which James thought a bit strange. It was explained, though, when Sherlock, who only had eaten small pieces of the topping like a bird, took Q's disregarded crust and chewed it slowly. It was a strange brotherly gesture, but it warmed James's heart to see it. 

"Why would he wait until noon tomorrow?" asked Q. "He could take out John any time."

"He wants the tragedy," said James. "He likes to take his victims when it will hurt the most. The wedding ceremony is perfect for that."

"We need to get to St. Mary's, then," said Q.

"I'll need a disguise," muttered Sherlock.

"Don't you worry about that, dear brother," smirked Q. "I have endless resources at my fingertips."

He took out his mobile from his pocket and dialled a speed-number.

"Lizzie? Could you be a dear and have that new kit from the Hair and Makeup research department delivered to my home? Thank you!" 

"MI6 has a Hair and Makeup research department?" asked James in genuine surprise when Q turned the mobile off.

"With the amount of lips you have kissed, double-oh-seven," smirked Q. "Haven't you ever wondered where smear-proof lipstick comes from?"

James blinked. 

"He hasn't," said Sherlock, licking his long fingers. "He's just happy that he doesn't get stains on his shirts as often as before. Though I suspect he haven't kissed anyone outside a mission for a while now, because he's trying to make his move on you."

James blinked again. This man really was a genious.

"Waterproof mascara?" Sherlock asked in genuine interest.

"CIA," said Q. "But I have a guy working on a new lash-thickening compound. The copyright alone will fund the new missile tracking system..." 

James decided that this was a good time to have a beer and go clean his gun in the kitchen. 

//////

They arrived to St. Mary that evening. The first thing they did was to scope out the grand ballroom where the ceremony was to be held. There was nothing there except for a lot of pink and white ribbons tied in big bows. 

Sherlock scoffed at the ribbons, saying that they obviously showed the bride's bad taste. 

The most disturbing part wasn't that Sherlock was dressed up as a woman, but that he actually was a very attractive woman. James wondered if he could get Q into something similar. 

"A known womaniser should never ask his not-yet-boyfriend to wear a skirt," said Sherlock without looking at him.

"Who died and made you Confucius?" huffed James, feeling Q's judging eyes on him. 

The estate itself was a stately home partly rebuilt into a hotel. James had thought it best to stay at the same place as the guests and the ceremony, to be close to the target as protection. Sherlock told Q that James just wanted to shag Q on a king size mattress. James had gotten another judgemental look.

They didn't get further in their analysis of this fact, thankfully, because they were interrupted by a man violently grabbing hold of Q's arm and turning him around. 

The man was in his early forties, not too tall, sandy blond, a little pudgy, but still handsome. He was starring up at Q with feverish blue eyes. 

"John?" a blond curly-haired woman stood behind him, looking a bit terrified.

"Excuse me," John slowly let go of Q. "I- I'm terribly sorry. So sorry. You just looked like... I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Q stepped back, letting James put a protective arm around his waist. 

John looked at the gesture and shifted uncomfortably. He then returned to his fiancÈ. James felt sorry for the man. That was when they noticed that Sherlock was missing. 

"He better not be in the ladies' room," muttered James. "I'm not going in there to look for him." 

"I'll go see," sighed Q. 

James sat down in a plush chair in the foyer, pretending to read a magazine, but really watching the guests. He saw Mycroft's pretty assistant walk by, but she ignored him completely. She was probably only there as Mycroft-by-proxy.

He much doubted that they would see anything of Moran until the moment of the shot. The skilled assassin was more than likely also in a disguise. 

The rehearsal dinner, or supper in this case, was being set up in the dining room. There where about a dozen wedding guests, except for the bride and groom, milling around, having drinks, laughing, and talking. 

James watched John, who was curiously watching Q, who was whispering to someone on the other side of the ladies' bathroom door. The door opened and Q slipped inside. John cast a glance at James, saw that he was being watched, and hurried to turn back to one of his guests. 

"Here for the wedding?" asked a man sitting down in the seat next to him. 

James looked him over, a few years older than he. Too old to be Moran, but it never hurt to be careful. 

"No," said James in a polite voice. "I'm on vacation. Lovely place for a wedding, though."

"Indeed," the man sighed and looked over at the couple

There was something of a deep sadness in his eyes.

"Am sorry if my friend startled you earlier," he said. "I saw what happened, and I'm not making excuses, but your... friend very much resembles a friend of ours that passed away recently."

"I understand," James smiled one if his charming smiles. "No worries."

"Thank you."

A small, spry woman in her seventies came up to them. She smiled at James before turning to the other man. 

"Detective Inspector Lestrade" she said. ìThere you are. We are seated together."

"Indeed we are, Mrs. Hudson," the DI smiled, got to his feet, and offered her his arm.

He gave James another quick smile, which James copied. The wedding party moved towards the dining room. 

A couple of minutes later Q and Sherlock came out from the ladies. They sat down with James.

"I'm sorry," said Sherlock with a heavy breath. "It's just so long since I've seen him so close up. And his reaction when he thought he saw me..."

"It's alright," said James and patted Sherlock's leg, careful to keep the touch above the hem of the skirt. "Though I may have some bad news. Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson are also here."

Sherlock paled significantly under his makeup. 

"Which means that they are potential targets as well," nodded Q. 

"Right," Sherlock looked at them with a determined face. "This is what we'll do. Felix, if you can, put bugs or trackers on them, also look for security cameras. Bond and I will go through the rooms and talk to the staff. I'll take downstairs, you take upstairs. I'll message you the room numbers. 

Without further ado Sherlock rose and walked towards the reception, his low heals clicking against the marble floor.

"He should apply for the next M," said James with half a smile.

"Don't you think just having one of my brothers run the county is enough?" smirked Q. 

James laughed and squeezed his hand. He followed as Q got up to their room to unpack the bag of technological fun that they brought. 

"I do like your idea about the bed," said Q looking over the mentioned item. "It's really big. I wouldn't mind having my first time with you on it."

"You are such a tease," said James going for a kiss, but was interrupted by his phone vibrating with the incomming message of room numbers. 

"Hold that thought," smirked Q.

He gave James a couple of small sound-recording bugs to place out, and then left to see if he could put trackers on some of the guests. 

James started with the bride's room. Nothing unusual, except a huge white dress, more flowers than necessary, and five pairs of shoes. It was the first time being in a woman's room made him uncomfortable. He put a bug under the desk and left.

Lestrade's room was more or less untouched. There was a open overnight bag and an altered of-the-rack suit on the wardrobe door. There were two ring boxes in the bag, which meant that Lestrade was probably the Best Man. 

Moving on to John's room, James was already certain that he would not find anything in these searches. Moran was not a fool, and if he believed Sherlock to be alive he would be careful not to leave a trace. 

The only thing strange in John's room was that the man seemed to sleep with a long, blue, silk scarf under his pillow. James sighed as he placed out another bug. 

He quickly went through the other rooms on Sherlock's list, not finding anything, and then walked down to the lobby again. 

Sherlock was sitting, very ladylike in his disguise, in the same chair as before. His eyes were closed, his hands lay on his lap, twitching like he was typing on a invisible keyboard, or wrestling with a gaming console. The man seemed deep in thought, almost like a controlled and irritated seizure, and James felt it best not to disturb. Q was nowhere to be seen.

James sat down next to Sherlock on the soft couch. He looked to the dining room, guessing that it was there Q was. James noted the time, it was half passed eight. 

"That was interesting," Sherlock suddenly seemed to talk to the air. "Moran could know about some of those passages. We should look for them."

"What?" frowned James. 

"The secret passages of course!" Sherlock gave him a short, through long lashes, glare. "This is a very old house, there must be secret passages. Just just look at the obvious layout of the walls, and the conveniently placed support points. There's clearly a entry over there."

Sherlock pointed to a dark corner of the lobby.

"If you say so," shrugged James.

"I do say so."

"Where's Q?" asked James, a little worried that the young man wasn't back.

"He said he was going to get some room service, and then go back to your room to check the bugs and trackers on his computer."

"Of course," smirked James to himself, feeling stupid. "I should have thought of that."

Sherlock gave him a look that said he was an idiot. James ignored it, he was far too used getting that look from Q every time he destroyed some valuable technology. 

"I'm going to search for secret passages in the ballroom," said Sherlock.

"How do you expect to find them if they are secret?" 

James was awarded with another one of those looks. Super-genius. Right. He sighed. Sherlock walked off like a hunter on a scent. James tried not to look at the surprisingly round arse moving under the skirt. 

James was just about to go find Q when the man himself called his phone. 

"I need some measurements," said Q. 

"Don't you want to take them yourself?" purred James into the microphone. 

"Pervert."

James could clearly hear the amused smile in the younger man's voice. He cold just imagine Q sitting against the big bed's headboard, laptop on his legs, and bare feet. 

"The trackers are getting interference. I need you to estimate the targets distances to a fixed point."

"How can they be having interference?" James was already moving towards the dining room. "Those things usually work from the other side of the world."

"Precisely," said Q, his voice conveying was Sherlock's look had said earlier. "And _now_ I'm just upstairs from them. A little distance calibration will be necessary."

"Smartass."

"I'm sure you'll love my smart arse."

"Getting a bit brazen, Q?" James laughed. "I haven't even really kissed you yet."

"I'm looking forward to it, though."

James sat down by a vacant table facing the rehearsal dinner. The guests seemed relatively sober, probably holding their liquor for the big party tomorrow. 

"Tell me the fixed point," he whispered.

"Far right side of the middle window."

James told Q the approximate distances to the surveillance targets. He noted that Watson was bluntly staring into the distance more than was ought to be considered normal, twice he even noticed that the future groom's eyes were on him. 

Lestrade tried to talk to John a few times, but Watson only made halfhearted responses. The bride didn't seem to notice, but she was laughing with what seemed like the maid of honour, a woman with red hair. 

"It's working," said Q over the line. "You can come and show me your other measurements now,"

"My pleasure," James waived at a waitress. "I'll bring the champagne. I bet you forgot that in your room service order."

"We are trying to prevent a triple assassination here, Double-oh-seven."

"Your point being?"

"Shut up," laughed Q. "Wait, the food is here..."

James ordered champagne to go from the waitress. Then there was a sudden crash on the other side of the line. There was a strangled sound that sounded like Q calling his name.

"Q?" James raised his voice, getting to his feet, a making several people look his way. "Q, what's going on? Felix?!"

He was running before he knew his legs were moving.

///////

James had mixed feeling of having Detective Inspector Lestrade follow him up to the room. On one hand he was glad to have a set of non-emotionally invested eyes looking over the scene of the abduction, on the other hand it prevented him from shooting someone. 

"Why would anyone want to take him?" asked the DI, stepping over a crashed plate on the floor.

Because he looks like _Sherlock Bloody Holmes_ , thought James but didn't answer. Where was Sherlock anyway? He had sent a quick message: 'they took Q' to Sherlock's number, but there was no answer. 

James rubbed his face, collecting his thoughts. Q's disappearance had shocked him more than anything before in his life, and that said quite a lot when you thought about his life. He was getting old, and sentimentality was catching up with him.

He took a collecting breath to tell Lestrade the truth, but was interrupted by Watson peaking inside the room. His face bore as much excitement as it had when he accidentally had taken Q for Sherlock. 

"What's going on?" he asked. "Is anyone injured?"

"That young man from before," said Lestrade. "Someone seem to have taken him."

"Oh!" Watson looked at James. "Do you know why?"

"Look," James's voice was so full of authority that he noted Watson almost stood attention at the sound of it. "I don't have time for any charades or long explanations. I need tour help with this. My name is Bond, James Bond. I'm with the secret service, Felix is Mycroft's brother..."

"Brother?" gaped Watson. "Another one?" 

"Yes, and I believe he has been taken by Sebastian Moran."

"Moran?" Watson paled. "Moriarty's man? He who would have shot me, and Greg and Mrs Hudson if Sherlock hadn't killed himself?" 

"You knew about that?" asked Lestrade surprised. 

James had found Q's generic government identification card and given it to Lestrade. James never carried any ID himself, except for maybe a fake drivers licence. The DI made a 'huh'-sound as he read the last name.

"Yeah," Watson's voice cracked a little. "Anyway, your friend is their brother? Is... is that why he was taken?"

"Probably," James walked over to Q's laptop and looked the screen over. "If he wasn't mistaken for Sherlock."

"You mean Moran did the same mistake as I, saw this Felix and thought Sherlock was still alive?" John frowned. 

"Yes." 

James chose not to reveal Sherlock just yet, it would only distract the two men from helping him finding Q. 

The screen of Q's computer showed a rudimentary map of the estate with small dots depicting the whereabouts of Watson, Ledtrade, Mrs. Hudson, and the left over bugs in Q's bag. All but one, Mrs Hudson, was in the room.

"Should we postpone the wedding?" asked Lestrade.

James' phone rang. The number was blocked. He answered it quickly. 

"Bond here."

"Mr Bond," Mycroft's voice was strained. "I just got a disturbing call from Sebastian Moran. Telling me that he's got Sherlock."

"He's got Q," said James with a knot in his throat. 

"So you still got Sherlock with you?"

"You knew?" James was actually surprised, again. 

"I know now," said Mycroft calmly. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

The line went dead. 

"Right," James pulled his gun and checked the magazine. "Mycroft's on his way. I'm going to look for Felix."

"Shouldn't we talk to the hotel personnel first?" asked Lestrade with a worried look on the weapon. "We could ask them who brought the room service. Don't kill anyone."

"Don't worry," James put a bullet in the barrel with a smooth practiced move. "I have a licence to kill."

/////////

James had left the questioning of the staff to Lestrade, but Watson had insisted on coming with him, producing an army issue gun of his own from the back of his trousers.

"Been a bit on the edge lately," Watson had shrugged at James's raised eyebrow. 

They entered the pink-ly decorated ballroom, carefully moving between the chairs, the flowers, and the chunks of fabric. 

James tried Sherlock's number once again. They both jumped slightly at the sound of a vibrating signal not far away. 

"There is a mobile on the floor over there," said John.

James moved to pick it up. His own number was displayed in the window, it was Sherlock's phone. He opened it up.

James's message to Sherlock about Q missing was unread, and there was no other messages, sent or revived after the one with the room numbers. 

"Bond!" 

John was hunching down by the side of a tall female figure on the floor. It was Sherlock, still in his female costume.

"She's been drugged," said John, taking a thin wrist between his fingers, frowning a little. 

"Let me see," sighed James, putting the mobile in his back pocket.

He turned Sherlock's face away from John. The wig was still in place, but the makeup was smeared. The man was barely conscious, with eyes rolling and confused breathing. 

"It it the lady that was with you before?" asked Watson. "Is she with the MI5 as well?"

"Yes...." 

James confirmed that Sherlock was just drugged, and not in any immediate danger. 

"Moran must had tried taking her alive, but we must have interrupted him."

"She has really big hands," said Watson, like an strange afterthought. 

James looked up over the wall again. It was a white wallpaper, parted in strips by golden ornaments looking like thin pillars. Sherlock had been looking for a secret passage, it was possible that he had found one, and been attacked when he tried to open it. 

He tried to think back on what Sherlock had said about the layout of the walls. There was really something odd, now that it was brought to his attention. He hoped that Sherlock had managed to drop the phone as an indicator. 

"Damn it!" Watson was looking around the decorated hall with half contempt in his face, he was still holding on to Sherlock on the floor. "I told Mary that I really don't like pink!"

"You don't seem too happy with her," said James and put his ear to the wall. 

"What do you mean?" frowned Watson,

The man did frown a lot, noticed James, while trying to find out something that a super-genius had had trouble finding out. Great time for said super-genius to be knocked out. 

"I love her!" protested Watson. "I'm marrying her! We are very happy together!"

Sherlock gave a gurgling sound, close to a sob, and tried to get away from Watson. 

"Easy there, miss," calmed Watson. "It'll soon be over. I'm a doctor."

James gave the wall an angry look and considered shooting it. He had a small plastic explosive in the hollowed out heal of his left shoe, it was very tempting. 

"You look more happier here with me with a gun in your hand than you did at the rehearsal dinner." 

Watson looked like was going to say something, but was interrupted by the chiming of his phone. He quickly answered it.

"Hello? Lestrade? Shit! I'm on my way."

"Did they find Felix?" James hoped against hope.

"They've found the waiter," Watson was already hurrying out towards the doors. "He's stabbed, but still alive..."

James felt a bit of panic surging through his well-trained nerves. He didn't want to think on Q as injured, or bleeding, or... He kicked the wall. Hopefully Q had just been drugged as well.

He heaved up Sherlock in his arms bridal-style and followed Watson out of the room. For a tall man, Sherlock was quite easy to carry. 

He was met by Mycroft's assistant, she didn't look happy at all. 

"I just got a call from Mr. Holmes," she said, looking to Sherlock. "Is that him?"

"Yes," James put Sherlock down on one of the couches, the man made a irritated grunt.

"Typical," she rolled her eyes and started typing on her high-tech phone. "Why do people always feel the need to drug him? If he falls off the wagon because of this I have to change his entire surveillance, again. I better things to do than to track this madman around."

"Fuck!" James exclaimed in a sudden realisation. "The trackers! So stupid!"

"What?" she looked up at him. 

"Look after him!" James was already running. "I got an idea!"

Q had recalibrated the trackers individually. But why would he need to recalibrate the ones that where not in use? 

The ones not in use shouldn't be registering to be in the hotel room. They should show to be somewhere that they were not. 

The unused trackers were hopefully with Q. Problem was that James didn't know how big the distance error had been. It could be anything from half a meter to ten. If they was able to repeat the calibrations then they would have the exact position of Q. 

James ran towards the kitchen, he almost crashed with Lestrade in the hallway. 

"Q has trackers on him but they are wrong," James told the stunned policeman. "You any good with computers?" 

"No," Lestrade had an critical eye on James's drawn gun. "But Mary is."

"Mary? The bride?"

"She is a computer programmer." 

"Get her to my room," James was already halfway up the stairs. 

/////

"I can't believe this," said Mary. "This kind of programming isn't even supposed to exist! Is this even legal?"

James rolled his eyes. 

"Just do it!" he growled at the woman. 

She glanced to Watson, who was standing by the door. The stabbed waiter was stabilised and the ambulance was on it's way, so he had returned for the search. His gun was tucked into his waistband. 

"Do it, Mary, please," he said. "Sherlock's brother's life may depend on it."

"Of course, it's always about Sherlock..." muttered Mary irritably, but started typing. 

"How is your lady friend?" asked Watson, ignoring his fiancé with a sigh. "Do you want me to take a better look at her?"

"She is fine," James moved to look at the screen over Mary's shoulder. "Mycroft's assistant is looking after her. He is on his way here by the way."

"Like we don't have enough trouble,"said Lestrade.

"Why are you spying on John?" Mary asked James angrily. "What the fuck is going on here?"

"You are supposed to find the unmarked ones," James pointed to the screen. 

"I have to look at the already calibrated to copy the code," she huffed. "But you are spying in us! On our wedding! I demand to know what is happening! And I won't lift a finger until I do."

James considered shooting her, but she would probably just faint and be of even less help. 

"Mary," began Watson. "Sherlock..."

"No!" she screamed, making them all jump. "Don't you dare say his name again, John. I'm so fucking tired of hearing about him and how amazing he was! You are with me now! He's dead! You are marrying me!"

"Wrong on both accounts," said a sudden, all familiar, baritone. 

Everyone in the room turned to look at Sherlock Holmes, wearing a dress but no wig, leaning in the doorway. Mycroft's assistant stood beside him, aiming a small gun directly at Mary. John gasped, his legs buckled and Lestrade had to reach out to grab him so he wouldn't fall. 

Miss Moran, or even _Mrs. Moriarty_? Would you be so kind as to tell us were your brother has hidden my brother?"

Watson and Lestrade looked to be in shock as they stared between Sherlock and the woman at the computer. James immediately pointed his gun at Mary's head without blinking. Mary didn't seem to care.

"There _are_ three of you," she sighed. "I should have known. Jimmy speculated in it, but he could never prove it."

James pressed the gun harder to her head. Her lack of obvious fear told him that she was well-trained, or a psychopath, or probably both. 

"Ah, ah, ah, Mr. Bond," she leered. "You need this brain to find your little boyfriend. It won't work with a hole through it."

"Your husband, case in point," Sherlock breathed hard, he was clearly struggling to stay conscious. 

"Jimmy did what he had to do," she smiled coldly. "I'll have a new husband soon, and you'll be dead for real."

"Whatever," Sherlock's legs were slowly giving in for the drug in his system. "Where is Sebastian?" He slid down to the floor against the doorframe. 

"Sherlock!" called Watson, moving forward to his resurrected friend, but Lestrade grabbed on to him, holding him back.

"Don't move, my love!" hissed Mary. "Not if you want to find the brother of your precious detective."

"Mary, stop this!" Watson tried to rid himself from Lestrade. "This isn't you!"

"That's exactly who she is," said Mycroft's assistant, still holding her gun on Mary. "I've already sent Sherlock's theories to HQ and Mr. Holmes. Both believe him."

James rolled his eyes. This was turning out to be more familiar to his regular missions than expected, and he had lost his patience with those a long time ago. Why was it always the pretty girl that turned out to be the villain? He sighed. 

"I might need your brain, but don't need your leg."

Then he shot her in the left leg. 

No one in the room flinched at the sound of the gun, but both Watson and Mary started screaming. Mary stopped first. Lestrade struggled with holding back Watson. 

James grabbed hold of Mary's hair, pulling her head back. She looked up at him, her forehead was wet with sweat, her teeth gritted in pain, but her eyes were cold. 

"Where are they?" spat James. 

"Why should I tell you?" 

"'Cause you want to keep your knees," James aimed again. 

"No!" Watson managed to break free from Lestrade. "Don't hurt her!"

He ran forward and grabbed hold of Mary, pressing his hands on the wound on her leg. He was crying. 

"It's going to be all right..." he whispered to her. "This isn't really happening..."

"Fuck," swore James, letting go of the woman's hair. "Get out of the way! I won't hesitate to shoot you as well!"

"No!" gasped Sherlock from the floor.

"Look!" Lestrade pointed to the computer screen. "The marks are moving."

James almost panicked when he noticed the marks move in both different speeds and directions. 

"Fuck," he swore. "They are scrambled. What did you do to them?!" 

"Me?" Mary smirked while blinking in mock-innocence.

James was seriously considering just knocking Watson unconscious to get him out of the way so he could shoot her again. The only thing stopping him was the thought that Q could need medical attention when they found him.

"I think I can manage the computer," Mycroft's assistant had lowered her gun. "But I can't do the calculations. Sherlock has to help me."

Sherlock was sitting on the floor, his dress halfway up his thighs. His head lolled slightly from side to side, but it was clear he was trying to focus.

"Good," said James. "Do it. What's your name?"

"Anthea," she adjusted the computer screen.

James knew false name when he heard it, but he trusted her well enough so it didn't matter.

"Lestrade," he ordered in his best naval commander voice. "Help him!"

Lestrade hurried over to Sherlock, helping him to his unsteady feet, and moving him towards the computer. 

Against his better judgement James let Watson move Mary to the bed to make more room. He still kept the gun on her, though Watson still refused to move completely away from the line of fire. 

"At least put these on her," James sighed and pulled up three plastic restraints from his pocket. 

Watson looked at them for a moment, then on the gun, then in James's eyes. Coming to a conclusion he took the restraints. He used one to put around Mary's leg, to help still the bleeding, the other two he placed around her wrists and ankles.

She was completely cooperative, which put James even more on the edge. 

Anthea began typing something on the computer and a couple of squares opened up on the screen. 

"Sherlock," she said. "Look at these. Tell me the differences."

Lestrade had to hold Sherlock's head still for him, forcing the man to look at the many rows of changing code. Sherlock began to babble what seemed like numerical nonsense. James didn't feel at all confident over this. 

He could see Mary smirk at the people by the computer, she seemed confident that they would fail. The only good thing was that Watson was slowly beginning to put things together, James could tell by the suspicious looks the man was giving the woman while tending to her wound.

"I got the first one," Anthea said. "Basement under the kitchen. But it's not moving."

"I'm checking it out," James wasn't going to wait anymore. "Open the blue communication program, you'll have a direct line to my mobile earpiece. Keep me informed. Watson!"

The doctor didn't respond, he was just staring at Mary's smug face.

"Captain!" James called louder and Watson looked immediately at him. "Change places with Lestrade. Help Sherlock. Lestrade, keep your eyes and gun on her."

Watson blinked as Lestrade lowered Sherlock to the floor and pulled his gun on Mary. 

" _Sherlock..._ " Watson murmured, his confused face turned into a worried one, looking down at the delirious man on the floor. 

"Now, behave while I'm gone," said James and ran off.

/////

The hotel staff were all outside, seeing the injured waiter off in the ambulance, but James had no trouble finding the stairs down to the basement. 

"Mary...?" Watson's voice suddenly trembled statically in his earpiece as it came on, bringing down the conversation from the room. "Is- is it true? Are you Moran's sister? Where... Where you married to Moriarty?"

There was no answer, James could only imagine her smirk.

"James?" said Anthea a bit closer to the microphone. "We found another one. Outside, not too far from you, moving to the northwest... 

"Keep on it," James ran out of the basement through the kitchen and on to the courtyard. "We need to know if they are all moving the same direction. How many are they?"

"Trackers on Q? I think six, not sure..."

James was running northwest, his gun in hand. He reached a garden with lawns, flower groves, and large bushes. There was a inaudible mumble from Sherlock in his ear.

"You mean this one?" asked Anthea. "Isn't that the one on Lestrade?" 

"But he's standing still," said Watson. "That one is moving."

They seemed to be discussing the trackers on the screen. James slowed down to a jog, there were some fumbling noises up ahead behind some tall bushes. Suddenly there was a familiar voice. 

"You are not here anymore, are you?" 

It was Q, James took a breath.

"I don't think you are here, and that I'm just talking to myself."

James looked around as he rounded the bushes. No one else seemed to be here. On the other side stood Q. His hands were tied on his back, and a scarf was over his eyes. He seemed to be walking aimlessly, and splurged as he crashed with the foliage. 

"Q?" said James, hurrying forwards but still holding on to his gun. 

"007!" Q tired to untangle himself from the leaves. "Do you see him?"

"I can't see anyone."

"Then he's gone. He left me here. Come help me."

"What happened?" James couldn't resist hugging Q before freeing him.

"Sherlock and I were ambushed. He was tall, blond, kind of buff. He was going to sedate me but Sherlock pushed me away and got the needle instead of me...."

"Did you find him?" asked Anthea in James's ear. 

"Found him wandering blindfold in the garden," smiled James. 

"Good, but there is still something moving..." She paused. 

"What?" asked Q moving closer so he could stand ear to ear with James and listen in. 

It would have been quite a sexy position if there hadn't been a gun shot ringing out from the bud, and a weaker one from the direction from the house. 

A man gasped and then screamed, a woman swore.

"Sherlock!" yelled John's voice 

"Oh my god," breathed Q and started running towards the house, James was not far behind. "I was a distraction!"

"What happened?" breathed James. "Respond!"

Another shot, it must have hit the computer cause the line went dead. 

"Black out," called James as he came up to Q's side.

"Shit."

They arrived to the courtyard at the same time as a black Mercedes rolled up the driveway. Mycroft, probably. 

There were guests in the lobby, most of them for the wedding. A few of them shouted when they saw James's gun. James and Q passed them and continued up the stairs. 

As they arrived to the door Q crashed into Lestrade who was on his way out. He had blood on his shirt. 

"What happened?" Q breathed hard. 

"Sorry," Lestrade moved passed them and hurried down the corridor. "I need to call the Yard."

James looked after him, taking it as a good sign that the policeman wasn't more panicked. 

"Sherlock!" 

James followed Q's voice inside the room. He almost stepped on a body on the floor, it fitted Q's description of the abducter. The man breathed lightly. Anthea as tying the his hands behind his back with a electrical cord. 

James looked to the bed where Mary lay, seemingly unconscious.

Sherlock was on the floor, still in the dress, and cradled in Watson's arms like a child. Q was on his knees beside them. Watson was rocking slightly, staring right ahead. 

"He came into the room, threatening us with a gun," Anthea said this calmly like it happened to her every day. "He had a tracker on him, but we discovered him too late. John shot him in the arm. Then I tackled him."

James frowned as Watson hugged Sherlock tighter as if protect him from Q's prodding hands. 

"Mary then pulled a gun, I have no idea where she got it from. Sherlock managed to push John out of the way, the bullet hit the computer. Lestrade knocked her out. Sherlock lost conciousness after that."

"I'm his brother," Q coaxed Watson gently. "I just want to check..."

"Careful," James put a hand on Q's shoulder. "He's in shock, and he is a soldier, he could lash out."

"He does have a history of PTSD," noted Anthea.

Q hesitated, but then got up and took one of the extra blankets from the bed, and put it around Watson's shoulders. Then he turned to look at his computer and gave a small wail. James smirked.

"Well," came a sigh from the door and Mycroft Holmes stepped over the threshold. "Don't you know how to throw a wedding."

Watson started to giggle. 

\-------

James was holding Q's hand and considering it as one of his greatest victories. 

They were in Watson's room. The good doctor had been given a shot of tranquillisers, but he still hadn't let go of the sleeping Sherlock. It was kind of sweet the way the two men were curled up on the bed together. 

Anthea and Mycroft were at the desk in the corner, trying to put together a preliminary report. They looked up as the door opened.

"Here you go," said Lestrade coming inside with a redheaded woman about James' age following.

James recognised her as the bridesmaid Mary had been speaking to at the rehearsal dinner. The woman hurried forward and kneeled by the bed with a strained sob.

"John's sister, Harry," explained Lestrade with a sad smile, and then turned to Mycroft. "Your guys has been to pick up Mary and her brother. One of them indeed identified him as 'Colonel Sebastian Moran'. Does that ring any bells?"

"A few," nodded Mycroft.

"For me as well," said James, recognising the name from a few of his missions. "He's an assassin. Why would he be here?"

"His loyalty to Moriarty, and to Mary," said Mycroft. "It vexes me that none of my sources knew about her."

"Sherlock must have suspected something," said Q, looking down at his older brother on the bed. "He practically recutted James for this."

"He what?" laughed James.

"Sherlock had his claws in you since you tried to snog him on my couch. Don't underestimate either of my brothers manipulative skills, they've learned from the best."

"You _were_ a devious child," nodded Mycroft while watching Harry gently stroke her brother's hair.

"I meant Mummy," huffed Q.

James laughed, he was glad as Q let him embrace him.

 

The end.


End file.
